The Sweetest Mockery
by reader13lovesbooks
Summary: Star-crossed lovers Haymitch and Maysilee leave the arena together. Twenty-four years later, their daughter Ember and her brother enter the 74th Hunger Games. AU, slow-burn romance. Cato/OC, HayMay, Seneca/OC, a touch of Gadge and Everlark.
1. Chapter 1

**Shout-out to my best friend and beta ProudAthena13!**

One:

My father deals a bruising blow to my arm. I yelp and nurse the battle wound, pouting. "Dad, I wasn't ready!"

"Do you think the other tributes in the arena are going to wait for you to be ready?" Dad growls. "C'mon, Ember, what do I always tell you? What do I tell you all the time?"

"Always be ready," I mumble.

"Exactly. _That_ was, as you said, not ready. If this were the actual Games, you'd be short one arm and dying from blood loss, sweetheart." He taps his wooden sword against his thigh, contemplating if he should extend our sparring session. But he relents and dismisses me. "You're done for the day. Go clean up. Your mother should have brunch ready soon." Dad whirls around and pins his glare on my little brother, who is unsuccessfully trying to remain unnoticed behind his book. "Cedric! You're next."

"Dad," I hear Ced whining while I dart into the house, grateful for the reprieve. The smell of coffee and the sound of my baby sister's nattering drift from the kitchen as I dash upstairs. For Summer, this day is no different from any of the others she's experienced in her six years. We'd like to maintain that illusion as long as we can.

I disappear into the bathroom and lock the door before stripping off my sweat-drenched clothes. My saint of a mother, bless her, has already anticipated my needs and filled the tub with hot water and—am I dreaming?—bubbles. God, I can't remember the last time I had a bubble bath. It's a huge luxury, because bubble baths serve absolutely no functional purpose whatsoever, except to be fucking amazing.

Today might be the last time I ever have a bubble bath.

I slip into the tub with a fervent determination to enjoy my soak. But now that the thought of the finality of it all has entered my head, I'm too tense to really luxuriate. I scrub myself clean from our rushed training session that morning. Dad wanted to prepare Ced and me as much as he possibly could in the last moments before the Reaping, even though he knows we'll have more opportunities to practice at the training center in the Capitol. Personally, I think he was just using it as an excuse to squeeze in what bonding time he has left with us.

You know, if you consider whacking each other with fake weapons to be bonding time. Kind of is in our family.

I should have been reaped when I was twelve. I had expected it. Mom and Dad had expected it. The whole world had expected it. That was what always happened with the children of _a_ Victor, let alone _two,_ let alone two who emerged from the _same Games_. But a Seam girl had been chosen for the Seventieth Hunger Games instead. Now I'm sixteen, and my name has still yet to be selected by Effie Trinket.

My time, I am sure, has run out. Because Ced is twelve now. His name is only in the bowl once, one out of thousands—but how can the Capitol possibly resist the opportunity to pit two siblings, two Victors' children, against one another? This is what they have been waiting for, and if both of us aren't called today, then I have severely overestimated the Capitol's capacity for cruelty.

Whatever happens today, Cedric is coming home. One way or another.

I dunk my head underwater to soak my hair. As I sit there, submerged, I fleetingly wonder...what if I just stay here? Force myself to stay under. Make it so an Abernathy family tragedy won't have to play out in the Games—only in the privacy of our home. But...no. Although Summer is only six, there are only six years separating her and Ced. They would both be in the Reaping bowls at the same time, when she is twelve and he is eighteen. The Capitol will just have their fun then.

I will not force Summer to take my place. I will not force Cedric to have to sacrifice himself for Summer, years down the road. I sit back up, gasping for air. Just then, someone bangs on the door. "Ember, hurry up!" Cedric yells from the other side. "I want to shower before brunch!"

"Chill out, pipsqueak. I'm finishing up," I bark back as I stand and drain the tub. Then I pat myself dry as much as possible with my favorite fluffy towel before wrapping it around myself and throwing the door open. "All yours, doofus."

Cedric makes a face and slams the door shut. I grin to myself as I flit to my bedroom to change. Mom has laid out one of my good dresses, a soft lavender one that won't make me stand out too much from the other kids in Twelve, who will all be adorned in varying shades of gray and brown.

At least, that's the theory. In reality, I know the cameras will be pointed at me and my family more often than not, because we're _the Abernathys._ And everyone wants a piece of the Abernathys. It's a simple fact of life.

I put on the dress and run a brush through my tangled tresses. Hair looks presentable enough. I hurry downstairs, passing Dad on the stairwell as he clomps up to shower as well.

"You look nice, sweetheart," Dad mutters. He claps his hand on my shoulder, looks as if he's about to say more, but then changes his mind and continues his way up.

My mother has set out the spread on the table. I ask if she needs help, anyway. "No, thank you, Ember." Mom kisses my head. "You can start eating. No point in waiting for your brother and father—God knows they'll inhale everything in seconds."

I sit beside Summer, who has a napkin that's almost as big as she is tucked into her collar, undoubtedly to keep her pretty yellow dress stain-free. Summer garbles something around the heap of pancake she just shoveled into her mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Summer," Mom chides gently. "Chew, swallow, then speak."

Summer looks disgruntled. I side-eye Mom to make sure she's turned back to the stove before stuffing pancake into my own mouth and grinning grotesquely at my baby sister. Summer squeals in delight, but by the time Mom turns around, I've already gulped down and am demurely cutting my next piece. Mom looks suspicious but leaves us be, and I wink at Summer.

Dad and Cedric join us at last, and brunch is a deceptively merry affair. The usual teasing and mischief-making is tossed back and forth over the table, but everyone except Summer can see the tension in our family's shoulders and eyes. This is probably the last pleasant family meal we'll have.

After we finish eating and cleaning up, Dad and Ced tromp off to go over some survival books. Summer plays with her dolls on the floor while I sit still so Mom can fix my hair. She is thorough as she combs my inky black locks, then braids a few strands into a facsimile crown around my head. I can do ponytails and simple braids well enough, but I've always loved the feeling of my mother's fingers in my hair—the touch in the entire world that I know best, that I would recognize anywhere. I coldly comfort myself with the reminder that, unlike most tributes, at least my mother will be with me until the very end.

"There," Mom whispers. "You look lovely."

"Wait!" Summer toddles to her feet. "You're not done!" We watch her run to the kitchen counter, stretch, and swipe a bunch of slightly crushed white violets. Plucked not from my treasured garden, but from the wild. "Put these in Em's hair!"

I lean down to rub my nose with Summer's. "Thank you, Summer. They're lovely! You're so thoughtful."

In the hallway, the phone rings. I hear Dad pick it up and conversed muffledly with whoever's on the other end. Mom smiles as she tucks the flower stems into my braided coronet. Then she checks the time, and her face falls. "We need to go."

Our family walks to the town square, resembling a funeral procession. We're halfway there when Cedric tugs on my hand. "Is Ash showing up today?"

Oh, Ashton. The prodigal son, if there ever was one. And with good reason. Our eldest sibling and brother has lived in his own house in the Victors' Village ever since he won the Sixty-Fourth Hunger Games, when he was only twelve years old. And he is expressly forbidden from stepping foot into ours when he is or has recently been drunk or high.

My older brother, like so many Victors, did not escape his Games unscathed.

"He has to be there," I say wryly. "The Peacekeepers will probably dig him out of his sty of a house if he tries to hole himself in." Even if it weren't required for all Victors to be present at the Reapings, the Capitol still loves to see the entire Abernathy clan all at once. It's a rare treat, since Ash is usually doped up on something and unfit for public consumption, and Rain is—

I scowl and shake Lorraine Abernathy out of my head. Ash's twin sister isn't worthy of my thoughts.

"Ash?" Summer's high voice pipes in. "Who's that?"

Well, that just goes to show how frequently our brother has been clean in the last few years. Which is to say, not frequently at all.

"Your brother, sweetie," Mom murmurs.

"I thought Ced was my brother."

"Ash is your other brother. You have two."

"Oh." Summer wrinkles her nose. "Then why doesn't he live with us?"

"He has his own house. The one down the street."

"The scary house?"

I look back down at Cedric, who's downcast. He's old enough to remember a time when Ash wasn't perpetually trashed. And he misses that big brother, not the frightening, half-mad, drunken addict. I squeeze his hand in commiseration.

We reach the square, and I can see the cameras all swiveling to ogle us. The Mockingbird, the Jabberjay, and their nest of Mockingjays—most of it, at least. Panem's favorite family, even if the Capitolites do have to sometimes cover their eyes while a not-so-little Mockingjay pukes up vodka and absinthe.

Mom hugs Cedric and me, and Dad pats us both on the shoulder. Then we part ways: my parents for the stage, with Summer in tow, and Cedric and me to the pens that hold the sacrificial lambs. Cedric knows how it works, so I don't worry about him while we check in. A prick of the finger and a blood sacrifice are no big deal. It's what comes after that's the worst.

My cousin Madge is already in the holding cell for the sixteen-year-old girls, as is our friend Katniss. Madge's and my mom are twins, and Mrs. Everdeen might as well have been a third sister. I start toward them, but a Capitol reporter and her cameraman stop me first. "Hello, Ember! I'm Cornelia Applewhite, with the Capitol Report. How are you feeling today?"

Cedric and my parents are getting the same treatment. Mom will do most of the talking, while Dad will just look grumpy as usual, and Summer might get in a few cute remarks that'll make the Capitol go _aww._ Cedric, I'm sure, will use plenty of big words so the reporter will go away as soon as possible and he can get back to the book he has tucked inside his jacket. I decide to go for honesty, with a touch of drollness. "Hot."

Cornelia looks confused—she was expecting a "great," or "excited," or even a "fine"—but finally gets it. She titters, as if it's the funniest thing she's ever heard. "It is very humid today, isn't it? And, of course, I'm sure _you_ must always be rather warm, what with your name and all." Ugh. Like I've never heard that one before. "Now, how are you feeling about the Reaping, dear?"

I shrug. "The same as usual."

"And what's the usual?"

Angry, bitter, terrified, take your pick. But I can't say any of those things aloud. "I'm curious to see who the Tributes are for the inner Districts. Their volunteers never disappoint. Of course, you can't count out the outer-lying Districts, either. You get a few surprises here and there." I pause, then add lightly, "My parents, for example."

"Oh, yes, your parents! Well, I see Marcus is taking care of them, but, well, I'm wondering about your perspective. Just as we've watched you and your brothers and sisters grow up, we've seen Haymitch and Maysilee Abernathy change over the years. How different do you think they are now, from when they were in the Games?"

I raise my eyebrows. "I wouldn't know. I wasn't alive then."

Cornelia's ostrich feathers tremble as she giggles again. "Obviously, dear! But surely you've seen the recordings or heard about their Games."

The orange chicken really wasn't going to let this go, was she? I'll toss her a bone. "They're as clever as ever, that's for sure. Mom catches me every time I try to sneak an extra sweet, and Dad slips it right back to me under her nose."

Cornelia practically guffaws, catching the attention of everyone around. I try not to flush in embarrassment. Honestly, it wasn't that funny. I just want to fulfill her entertainment quota and escape. "Oh, you're wonderful! Just as charming as your parents were in their day. And still are. Well, your mother, at least. You look a great deal like her, you know. If it weren't for the hair, I'd say you were twins."

I force a smile. "Mom already has a twin. One's enough, I think. Now if you'll excuse me, Ms. Applewhite, I should get going." I extricate myself and hurry off before the orange chicken can reel me back in. Amusement radiates from Madge and Katniss as I finally join them. "Shut up."

"We didn't say anything," Madge protests, lip twitching.

"You don't need to," I harrumph. "By the way, apparently I've replaced your mom as my mom's twin."

Madge places her hands on her hips. "But _I'm_ your twin." Though cousins, Madge and I were born close enough to each other that we have joint birthday parties every year. And although not identical in appearance like our mothers, we still look similar enough—despite our hair colors—that we could be mistaken for sisters, if everyone didn't know everyone in Twelve.

And if I weren't part of a celebrity family.

I lean forward and tug on Madge's plait, an action I know she hates. "Unfortunately." I laugh as Madge bats my hand away, and I turn to Katniss. "How's Prim?"

Katniss frowns. "Nervous."

"She won't get picked. She hasn't gotten any tesserae, has she?"

"Of course not," Katniss growls. "I would never let her."

"Then she's fine." I sigh. "Besides, we all know who the tributes are going to be."

Madge takes my hand. "Maybe it won't be you. They haven't picked you all these years. Why start now?"

I look around and instantly spot Cedric, who is indeed hunched over his book. Madge and Katniss follow my gaze. "He only has one, too," Katniss says softly.

"It doesn't matter. He was marked the moment he was born. We all were." I'm a touch melodramatic, sure, but my whole life has been a big, fat soap opera. Almost literally, considering how often we're on TV. I look them in the eye. "Cedric isn't going to die."

They're silent. They know what I mean. If Cedric and I both go into the arena, only one of us can come back out. And I have already decided which of us it's going to be.

Then the "festivities" begin. I tune out the same old video to observe my family. Cedric is still immersed in his book. He knows what to expect from today, too. If he wants to bury himself in the haven of whatever he's reading for a few more moments, who am I to tear him away from that? Who is anyone to do so? Who is anyone to rip him away from his world of books and fantasy and knowledge and force him into harsh reality?

Mom sits primly onstage, looking every inch the perfect lady, even with Summer squirming on her lap. Her eyes are on the video, but not her mind, I can tell. I know Mom is still holding on to a fool's hope that there is a way for us to be spared, that we won't be reaped at all. Dad, on the other hand, never had such dreams and has been preparing for our deaths since before we were born. I'm sure that whatever Games strategy he has for Cedric and me now is the same plan he had come up with for Ash and Rain, back when he had feared that his twin children would be reaped together, back before Rain had betrayed us all.

I feel a sudden burst of anger, not at Rain (I'm always angry at Rain) but at my parents. Why have kids at all if they knew their children would die before their time? Why let us be born in the first place, so that we would die the death they should have died? But that anger is soon swept away by self-loathing for thinking such thoughts in the first place. _They love me. That is why I'm here today._ And the love of my parents is something to be cherished, not resented.

Then I spot Effie Trinket coming back to the microphone, and I freeze in fear. Already? So soon? I thought I had more time! "Now," the escort trills, "who shall go first this year?" She turns to my parents. It's Effie's usual ploy to try to engage the Victorious couple in the Reaping. "Maysilee, Haymitch, which one of you would like to call it today?"

Usually, Dad sits back and lets Mom deal with Effie, but today, he speaks up before Mom can. "Boys."

Effie looks surprised for a moment, having expected Mom to respond, before quickly beaming. "Thank you, Haymitch. There we have it, gentlemen first. And may the odds be ever in your favor." She trots over to one of the giant glass Reaping bowls and sticks a pale hand inside.

I am willing to bet that every single slip of paper inside says "Cedric Abernathy."

Effie selects one and slowly opens it up. "_Cedric Abernathy!_"

My baby brother slowly looks up from the book he has his nose in. The cameras are already trained on him; they have been the entire time. He straightens up, but he still looks painfully tiny as he shuffles into the aisle and walks to his doom. I have prepared myself for this moment, but I still have to bite my fist to stop myself from screaming. On the stage, Mom and Dad look stony, determined not to break down when the entire world is watching them.

Cedric is small for his age, and he looks even shorter next to Effie in her towering heels. "Cedric, it's so wonderful to see you again! You must be so excited, to be chosen for the Games in your first year!" Cedric stares blankly back at her. "Well, I'm sure you're looking forward to following in your mother and father's footsteps. And how are the proud parents?" Effie glances back at Haymitch and Maysilee but just as quickly looks back to the front, upon spying the glowers on their faces. "Now, onto the girls, shall we?"

I brace myself as the perfectly manicured hand digs into the other bowl. Well, this is it. I begin moving toward the aisle before Effie even reads the name.

"_Primrose Everdeen!_"

The world stops. I stop. Murmurs start. My mind races. It's not me. _It's not me._

It's Prim.

How did this happen? It was supposed to be me. I spin around and spy a small blond head bobbing slowly through the crowd, then back around to Katniss, who looks horrified. Our eyes meet. Katniss is going to volunteer. I know it.

Part of me wants to let her. It's Katniss's sister. Let Katniss go into the arena. Let Katniss go so I won't have to sacrifice myself for Ced. But the greater part of me knows I can't. I can't expect Katniss to look after Cedric for me. I know she will, because we're friends, and she likes Ced. But that's my job. Just as Prim is Katniss's sister, Cedric is my brother. I can't volunteer for him, but I can still protect him.

Besides, with her hunting and survival skills, Katniss might be better prepared than almost anyone in Twelve for the Games, but I was born for them.

"I volunteer as tribute!" My voice rings clearly throughout the square. And then my face fills every screen. I see Peacekeepers hustling Prim back to the other twelve-year-olds, and others coming to escort me to the stage instead. Please. Total overkill. I stride forward, brushing them off as I pass by. I can't bring herself to look at my parents as I climb the steps and join Cedric, who looks just as bewildered as I feel.

"Our first ever volunteer!" Effie gasps. "Well, Ember Abernathy, you couldn't just let your brother have all the glory, could you?"

I entwine my fingers with Cedric's. "I couldn't let him go alone."

"Oh, no, of course not. But how are you two going to work this out? There's only one winner." I see a flash of sorrow in her face.

"Easy," I reply. "Cedric will come home." _And I will not_ was the unspoken afterthought that everyone in Panem heard.

Effie is flustered. "I see," she says, and I wonder if she really does. "Well, here they are! The tributes of District 12 for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games: Cedric and Ember Abernathy!" She claps.

No one else does.

I find Madge and Katniss in the crowd. My twin looks stricken. Katniss gazes back at me, and I think I see my friend mouth "thank you." Then she raises her left hand, kisses her middle three fingers, and holds them up to me. To me and Cedric. Madge does the same. Then in another part of the crowd, Prim. Then Gale Hawthorne, and the Mellark boys, and Delly Cartwright, and Ripper, and Greasy Sae, and everyone in District 12.

I turn around. Mom and Dad are standing and saluting farewell, too. Mom's eyes are watering, and Dad's are cold as ice, until they meet mine. Then they soften, and I know that my parents both understand.

What I don't know is why Dad's eyes are burning with something that I'm tempted to call zeal, or excitement, but I know that can't be it.

Peacekeepers rush us off the stage and into the Justice Building. I know the procedure, but it doesn't hurt any less when Ced and I are separated. I sit on the couch in my room, waiting, wondering who will visit me. Mom and Dad won't, obviously, since they'll be coming with me and Ced to the Capitol. I've already said my goodbyes to most people, so—

The door opens. Madge enters. I fly to my feet, and we embrace. "I told you they weren't going to pick you," Madge says, laughing bitterly.

"So you did. You're always right, Magpie."

Madge wrinkles her nose. "Ugh, don't call me that. Firefly."

I snort. "At least Magpie actually makes sense. I can't remember where you even got Firefly from."

"Embers burn, fires burn, ergo firefly," Madge says simply.

"So you're saying I burn fireflies?"

Madge shoves me lightly. "Shush. Pretend it's logical." Then she sighs and looks at me with the same blue eyes that I see in the mirror every day. "I'm going to miss you."

I smile sadly. "What, no pep talk telling me that I have what it takes to come home?"

"Oh, you do. Of course you do. But I know that you're going to take that 'what it takes' and use it for Cedric." A tear runs down Madge's cheek. "I wouldn't expect any less from you."

I press my palm against hers. "You'll take care of my garden for me, won't you? You know no one in my family can touch plants without killing them."

"Of course." Madge nods.

"And," I add nonchalantly, "I'm sure if you ask politely, Gale Hawthorne will be glad to help you out once in a while."

Madge shoves me again, less lightly. "Shut up! I never should have told you about him." A sharp knock raps on the door. "I'd better go. You have a line."

"I do?"

"You're popular." Madge smiles faintly. "I guess this is goodbye."

"Yeah. I guess it is." I watch Madge go. "Hey, Madge?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry for kissing Gale when we were fourteen."

She groans. "Ugh. You're still not forgiven."

"I love you, Magpie!"

Madge turns at the door, blinking furiously. "I love you, too, Firefly." Then she's gone.

I have no time to mourn, though, because Katniss and Prim come in immediately. Prim wraps her arms around my waist. "Thank you," she sobs. "Thank you. I wish you didn't have to volunteer, but…"

"Hey, better me than you," I say, pseudo-lightheartedly. "Besides, someone's got to watch over Ced."

Prim sniffs and steps back. "I wish I had a present for you or something."

"Just seeing you is more than good enough."

Katniss pats Prim's arm. "Prim, do you mind heading out first? I need to talk to Em alone." Prim nods and retreats. When the door shuts, Katniss speaks again. "I want to thank you, too."

"There's no need," I respond. "It was always supposed to have been me. Prim should never have been called."

"Why didn't you let me volunteer?"

I shrug heavily. "It wasn't your job. It was mine."

Thankfully, Katniss needs no further explanation than that. "Make sure Ced comes home, then. Make sure he wins, so that this isn't all in vain."

"That's my only goal from this point forward."

Katniss nods, hesitates, then comes in for a hug. I return it, and then my friend is gone, too.

Various friends from school come in and out, bringing and taking their tears with them. I'm starting to wonder if I should be crying by the time Delly Cartwright drags herself out. I've been dry-eyed the entire time. What should I be crying over? The guaranteed loss of my life? I've long since accepted it, and I'll be losing it for the sake of Cedric. That's more than a worthy cause.

When I finally rejoin him on the way to the train station, I take his hand—I've held so many hands today—and don't let go, not in the car, not when we pass the hordes of cameramen on the platform. Not until we're face to face with our parents once more.

And Ash.

I've been so distracted, I can't even remember if my older brother was present at the Reaping. People are exempt from attending if they're at death's door, and Ash certainly looks as if he's half-dead. Smells like it, too. His bloodshot eyes are dilated as they fall upon Cedric and me. "EmnCed!" he slurs. "Well, congrats, you're the chosen ones. Howzz't feel to be fucked?"

"Ashton!" Mom hisses, clamping her hands over Summer's ears. "Your sister is in the room!"

"Oooh, so she is." Ash squats so they're eye-level. Summer shrinks back. "Wumph. You got big, Summy." She hides her face against Mom's leg. "Wut, don' remember me? 'm your big brother...Ashton Abernathyyyy!" He gesticulates wildly. "Youngest evah winner of th' Hunnnngah Games!"

Dad grabs him by the collar and throws him in the direction of the door. "Get out of here." He turns to one of the Capitol attendants. "Make sure he gets to his room and stays there until he sobers up."

"Whoawhoawhoa, there, old man." Ash stumbles back toward Dad. "Youuu can't tell me whadda do. 'sides, 'm supposed to mentor. Gots to be here."

"You're not mentoring," Dad snaps. "Your mother and I are."

"But you mentored las' year. And th' year before. And before. And every year. S'not fair. Whenzzit gonna be my turn?"

"When you're clean."

Ash chortles. "Well, I guess tha's never, then." He starts to go, but pauses. Slowly, he turns back around to stare at Cedric and me again. "They're gonna kill you. They're all gonna go after you two first. Always happens." He focuses on me. "You shouldn'a volunteered. Could've saved yourself. Could've lived. Now you're dead. You're fucking dead, and they'll kill Ced soon as they're done fucking your corpse—"

"OUT!" Dad bellows, and this time he drags Ash out the door.

"YOU'RE DEAD! YOU'RE ALL DEAD! YOU'RE DEAD, YOU'RE DEAD, YOU'RE DEAD—" The door shuts.

I shudder. Those of us remaining in the train car are silent, even Summer, who seems traumatized by the encounter. Just as we've all just about recomposed ourselves, the door opens again, and we jump.

"Well!" Effie says happily. "Did I miss anything?"


	2. Chapter 2

Two:

It turns out Dad threw Ash off the train. Literally. Mom was _not_ happy when she found out, but Dad insists the train wasn't moving that fast yet, and Ash has a thick skull, so what's the problem?

Mom still hasn't spoken to him.

I, for one, am feeling sour over what Ashton spat at me before Dad dragged him out, so I'm quite vindictively gleeful at the moment.

_They'll kill Ced as soon as they're done fucking your corpse._

I quell the rising sensation of nausea, begging my mind to not conjure up images of the hypothetical situation into which I'm sure Ash would have generously gone into further detail, if Dad hadn't hauled him away. He was exaggerating. That wouldn't happen. The hovercrafts would take my body before other tributes could do anything else to it.

A disturbing thought creeps into my head. What if tcriedhey do "anything else" before I'm dead? It's not as if anything is censored in the Hunger Games—except when tributes have to use the bathroom, because _nobody_ wants to see that, not even the Capitolites in all their depravity. It's not as glamourous as killing or fucking. Fornicating tributes isn't a common occurrence, but it's happened before. Consensually and nonconsensually. Out of horniness, loneliness, force, desperation, anger. When it's nonconsensual, the Districts respond as they do to everything Hunger Games-related: with disgust and outrage. Even the Capitol is uncomfortable with it.

It's one thing to murder children and an entirely other thing to rape them.

I take a deep breath and shove my stream of thoughts away. It won't happen. Not to me. I won't let it. I'd rather die before I let Cedric, my parents, my friends, the world see it.

When I finally rejoin everyone on Earth, Effie is trying to get a talk about strategy going. "This is going to be a great year! Maysilee, Haymitch, you know everything about your tributes. You'll know precisely what to do to bring home a win for Twelve."

"I'd rather bring home my children, thank you," Mom replies icily.

Effie titters nervously and moves on. "Well, let me see, let me see… There shouldn't be any trouble getting sponsors. The world already knows and loves your children. You'll have the entire Capitol eating out of your hand. Of course, that's not to say presentation isn't important, because it certainly is. Ooh! We might be able to do something like the Careers, now that—"

"No," Dad snarls. "My children are not Careers."

"But they've been training, haven't they? They can—"

Dad slams his fist on the table. "They. Are. Not. Careers."

There's silence, then Effie stands. "I think...I shall leave you all to discuss amongst yourselves for a moment." She totters away.

Mom rubs her temples, like Aunt Margaret does when she's about to get one of her migraines. Thankfully, Mom doesn't share her twin's debilitating condition. "That could have gone a bit better, Haymitch."

"She's gone. I don't see how it can get much better than that." Mom shakes her head as Dad twists to stare at Cedric and me. "So this is the part where we usually ask the tributes what strengths they have, but like that flamingo said, we already know all your strengths _and_ weaknesses." Dad props his chin on his hands and looks thoughtful.

Dad was right earlier, when he told Effie we weren't Careers. We may have been training our entire lives for the Hunger Games, but not because we wanted to participate. It's because we knew we would have to. That's the difference between us and the bloodthirsty bastards in One, Two, and Four.

Neither Mom nor Dad is the best fighter. They won their Games based on cunning, resourcefulness, and each other. Neither of them ever had real combat training until the scant few days right before the Games. But over the years, when they started having children, they acquired enough skills to be proficient in a few types of weapons or styles of fighting, so they could pass them on to us.

_Always be ready_ is Dad's number one lesson. Number two is _the only weapon you can rely on is yourself._ No matter the arena, no matter the year, no matter the Gamemaker, the one thing you can count on to be in the Games is your own body. Even unarmed, you can get one over another tribute as long as you know what you're doing. Of course, success depends on what that other tribute is capable of, as well as yourself. I could probably take on a fourteen-year-old from Six with a knife, but a Career, with or without a weapon, is another question entirely. Cedric and I also know our way around weapons that consistently show up in arenas—swords, spears, daggers, and the like. But neither of us is crazy, arrogant, or stupid enough to think we'd stand any chance in a bloodbath. We're most likely going to have to depend on our survival skills, of which we certainly have plenty. Especially Ced, with his encyclopedic knowledge of everything. And his surprising talent at archery.

As if he read my mind, Dad finally speaks. "Your priority is not to kill. It is to survive." Ced and I nod. "Only fight with the other tributes when you must."

"Speaking of other tributes," Mom chips in, adjusting a squirming Summer on her lap, "we need to figure out how you'll interact with them. Your top priority is each other, but that doesn't mean you can't play nice with anyone else."

"Are you suggesting an alliance?" I probe.

Mom and Dad do that thing where they communicate solely with their eyes. It's weird. "You already have an alliance between the two of you," Mom responds. "You have enough fighting and survival skills between you two that you don't _need_ anyone else. But it can't hurt to at least act like a decent human being. There's no need to unnecessarily draw anyone's wrath upon you."

"And who knows what might happen in the arena?" Dad adds. "Be flexible, and if any tributes catch your eye, let us know. We'll talk more."

"Now, Effie had it right regarding sponsors," Mom continues. "We'll have no problem acquiring any, but we still want to keep those we already have and reel in as many more as possible. We can discuss private sessions and interviews in more depth later on, but for now, keep in mind that we want to keep up the image of devoted siblings who know what they're doing and will do whatever is necessary to ensure one of them goes home."

Done and done. "Is this the same image we want to project to the other tributes?" I ask.

"They'll all know your motivations when they watch the Reapings, so there's no point in trying anything else," Dad points out. "But make sure they, particularly the Tributes, get the impression that you're not a huge threat. We don't want them coming after you early on." He leans forward. "This is _very_ important. Avoid trouble as long as you possibly can in the arena." There's that queer light in Dad's eyes again, that almost-zeal I saw during the Reaping. Before I can ask him what's gotten him so wired up, Effie returns.

"Time for the recap of the Reapings!"

We reconvene at the couch in front of the big television screen. Summer has claimed Dad's lap, so I rest my head on Mom's shoulder while Ced squeezes between our parents. As always, the Reapings start with District 1. They must have an unfair proportion of pretty people there, because they always have at least one gorgeous tribute. The girl, Glimmer—and I thought "Ember" was bad enough—could give her mentor Cashmere a run for her money. And since she volunteered, I'm assuming she has the skills to back that arrogance up. Then again, you never know with the Ones and Twos. The boy isn't bad to look at, either, and one look at his tall frame tells me he's one to watch out for.

Two makes us all tense up. The girl, though petite, is daunting enough, what with the cold lack of feeling in her eyes.

The boy is terrifying.

District 2's crowd is actually cheering his name as he surges toward the stage. _Cato! Cato!_ they're chanting, as if he's already won. He's over six feet of solid muscle and chiseled lines. The girl in me appreciates these features, and his face. The tribute that I am is trembling.

Mom takes my hand and interlocks our fingers as we watch Cato pump his fist in the air, and the crowd screams. "And we have our odds-on favorite," Dad mutters.

Four's pickings are surprisingly weak this year. The boy looks like he's Cedric's size and age, and the girl, though older, seems anxious as she walks forward. Both were reaped. What's going on? Does Four not have any Careers this year? The rest of the Reapings pass by in a blur, until we get to ours.

Ced blushes, as is his wont, when he realizes the cameras captured him reading when his name was called. But none of us scold him for it. Then, when Prim is summoned, after what felt like an eternity then but was really only a few seconds, I step up. I've always hated watching myself on TV, and this is no exception. At least I didn't make a fool of myself, or cry or puke.

We have dinner after that, and then there's no more talk of strategy, or even the Games. I think Mom and Dad are trying to make this the last "normal" evening for us. It doesn't work for anyone except Summer, to whom none of us has quite explained the true meaning of the Hunger Games, but I appreciate the effort. Ced and I play along when our parents choose some board games. After all, we'll have plenty of time to freak out at the Capitol.

The next day, we arrive, but I'm not particularly excited or astounded. The Capitol is no new setting for any of us Abernathys. We all journey here every year for the Games: Mom and Dad because they're mentors, and my siblings and me because we're the adorable children, and Ash because we might as well drag him along. Also, Ash needs to replenish his supply of Capitol-produced narcotics.

When I was little, I thought the annual trip was a vacation. My siblings and I were free to roam District 12's living area in whatever Tribute building they'd constructed that year and ogle the colorful city from the windows, while Mom and Dad did their dirty work. In the evenings, we would be dressed up and go with our parents do the Opening Ceremonies, the Interviews, and other public events. It wasn't until I was six, when Ash was reaped and Rain abandoned us, that I realized Mom and Dad only took us because they had to. The Capitol wanted to see the Abernathys' nest of Mockingjays, and what the Capitol wants, the Capitol gets.

I was disillusioned long ago by my erstwhile wonderland. Now I dread more than ever the city and its inhabitants. All but one.

Cinna nods as I finish dressing in a plain black leotard. The fabric is high quality and well-made, but I fail to see what is so spectacular about it. Cinna is better than this. "Trust me, you'll stun everyone," he assures me. "However, I do trust that the girl named after fire isn't afraid of her namesake?"

I wonder if I should be worried. "I don't know, are you afraid of cinnamon?"

He chuckles. "I'm not named after cinnamon."

"I know. I'm not named after fire, either." I pluck an already peeled orange from the bowl on the table and pop a slice into my mouth. Alright, so perhaps the Capitol has one more redeeming quality besides Cinna, and that's fresh citrus. "So if I'm fire, then what's Cedric? And he's not named after cedar," I add.

"No, trees are Seven's territory. He'll get the same treatment you're getting."

I eye Cinna suspiciously. "You're not pulling my leg, are you? You're not actually secretly setting us up for sexy coal miners? Because my parents were stuck with that, and they looked awful."

"That's not what I have in mind, but it can be arranged if you wish."

I snicker. "I'll pass, thanks."

Cinna clasps his hands behind his back. "Joking aside, Ember, how are you really?"

I quiet. "I don't know." Even if I did, I wouldn't say, because I know there are microphones all over the room.

He knows, too. He changes the subject. "Now, moving on. I don't want to give too much away about your Interview outfit, but I just want to make sure—your cousin, Madge, she calls you...Firefly?"

"Yes. Why?"

Cinna smiles blithely. "You'll have to wait and see."

I groan, then pout. "You can't tease me like this, Cinna. I'm dying to know what you're plotting!"

"You'll know Part One soon enough." He checks his watch. "Very soon. We should get going."

I watch the Opening Ceremonies every year, in person, but I've never been up close to a real horse before. Twelve's horses seem gentle enough, and I even pet one of them on the nose. "Aren't they beautiful, Ced?" When my brother doesn't answer, I twist around to look at him. "Ced!"

He jumps, almost dropping his book. "What? What's going on?"

"Now, Ced? Really?"

"I was in the middle of a chapter," he says defensively. "I couldn't just put it down."

I can't help but grin as I chuck him under the chin. "Just make sure you don't read during the actual Ceremony, okay?"

"Fine," he grumbles.

District 1's chariot lurches forward. Cinna and Portia hurry over. "Are you ready?" Cinna asks, raising what looks an awful lot like a torch.

"Maybe," I say slowly. Even Cedric looks up from his book, partly curious, partly alarmed.

"Good. Hop on." They stop onto the chariot. Cinna and Portia lean forward.

"Oh my God!" I yelp, and everyone in the vicinity gapes. We're on fire, but we can't _really_ be because we're not burning to death. I would know if I was. So would everyone else, once I began screaming in agony. "Cinna, what is this?"

"Your outfit," he says, just a bit smugly. "Do you like it?"

I tentatively touch one of the flames. It feels like air. Like nothing. Maybe a little tickle. But it looks so real. I feel like a goddess.

No, scratch that. I _am_ a goddess.

"Yes," I breathe.

"Hold on to each other," Cinna advises, and Cedric grabs my hand just as our chariot surges forward.

I am expecting cheers, because the Capitol already knows and loves us. I am not expecting the stunned silence (as promised by Cinna) and the ensuing cacophony of screams of shock, delight, confusion, and admiration. The sound pounds my eardrums, and my heart hammers as flowers rain down upon us. A great deal of them are white violets, and I wonder if people noticed the ones that had been in my hair earlier that day. I catch all of the violets, smiling beatifically, just as I've practiced every day of my life. Cedric is doing okay, beaming bashfully at the cameras, though I can tell he's uncomfortable. We're still holding hands, and Cedric, noticing this, smiles at me before raising them.

I feel high off the atmosphere by the time we stop in front of President Snow's mansion. If this is what Ash experiences every time he smokes, snorts, or injects something, I can _almost_ understand why he does it. I nearly forget why I'm here in the first place, until I catch sight of the president.

"Snow" is a taboo word in the Abernathy household, unless one is speaking about the precipitation kind. I know our house is bugged, and it seriously creeps me out, but I've managed to live with it my entire life. Everyone in our family twelve and older knows that nothing kind can be said about Snow, so it's best not to speak of him at all.

That is, until we go beyond the fence to train in the woods. Then it's free game.

Snow cares nothing for the feelings of my family, only for what we can offer to him and the Capitol. Entertainment, mostly, in the form of feature stories and TV clips about our everyday lives. And I know that at one point, he wanted my parents, in their younger days, to be a part of his Victors' prostitution ring, despite their being "star-crossed lovers," but then changed his mind and told them to become baby-making machines instead. As whores, Haymitch and Maysilee would have pleased a few people. As parents, they pleased and please the entire Capitol.

As much as Snow loves his blood money, he knows the importance of keeping the Capitolites content.

I'm startled when the chariot moves again. The Ceremonies are over, or they're about to be. We tributes return to the stables, where our mentors are waiting. Mom is scolding Cinna good-naturedly. "If I really thought you were endangering my children…"

"I wouldn't dare to even think of it," he replies.

Our cloaks of fire are extinguished, and I go to join Dad, who's talking with Chaff. The one-handed man spots me coming and grins broadly. "Ember Abernathy! Look at you. Haymitch, where've you been hiding her?"

"District 12," Dad deadpans.

"Hello, Chaff." I extend my hand to shake. Chaff reaches for it and pulls me in, giving me a bear hug.

"I remember when you could still fit in the palm of my only hand."

I roll my eyes, corner of my mouth quirking upward. "You're exaggerating."

"Yeah, you're right. You were half that size." Chaff slaps his leg. "Oh, I've missed you."

"I missed you, too, Chaff." I peer around, and my gaze lands on Eleven's tributes. One is a large, hulking boy whom I would've thought a Career if I didn't know any better. The other is a sprite of a girl who's even smaller than Prim. I feel a pang in my chest. If Cedric is to go home, this child will have to die.

Chaff sees what, or whom, I'm looking at. He and Haymitch exchange a glance, and Dad nods. "Wanna meet my tributes this year, Em?" Chaff asks.

I blink at the unexpected offer. "Meet your...um, okay. Uh, Cedric as well?"

"Sure thing. Hey, Cedric Abernathy!" Chaff hollers. "Get over here!" When my brother skitters over, Chaff gestures for his tributes to approach. "Em, Ced, this here is Thresh and Rue, Thresh, Rue, I'd like you to meet Ember and Cedric Abernathy."

Rue looks decidedly impressed. Thresh looks decidedly not. "It's nice to meet you," Rue tells us, then to me, "You volunteered for that blond girl, didn't you?"

"I did," I confirm

"Did you mean what you said when your escort asked you why?"

I look down at Cedric, who scuffs his shoes. "Yes. Of course." Thresh looks intrigued now, but not enough to speak.

Rue sighs and tells Cedric, "I wish I had a big sister like yours. I'm the eldest in my family."

Cedric blushes. "Ah...she's not that great."

I pinch him him. "Ungrateful brat," I say jestingly, before returning my attention to Rue. "How many siblings do you have?"

"Five."

"Five?" I repeat eyes wide. I shouldn't be so stunned, since my family is almost as large, but we can afford to feed so many mouths. I'm pretty sure Rue's family can't. That must mean, assuming both her parents are alive, she must've taken eight tesserae, and that's only if she doesn't have any extended family. Rue's name was in the Reaping bowl nine times, four more than me. And that's only in her first year. If Rue hadn't been reaped this year, then by the time she turned eighteen, if only she of all her siblings took tesserae, she would've had her name on _sixty-three_ slips. Significantly more than even someone like Gale, who has too many tesserae himself.

But such hypothetical situations will never come to pass, because Rue was chosen today. Nobody gets reaped twice.

"What are their names?" I hear Cedric ask.

"Clary, Basil, Holly, Myrtle, and Dill," Rue rattles off. "Dill's the new baby. He was just born a month ago."

I nudge Cedric. "I remember when Summer was born. You hated her because it meant you weren't the youngest anymore."

"I did not!"

"I caught you trying to put her in the trashcan. But you were still a baby yourself so you couldn't even lift her."

Cedric is tomato red. "I'm not—was not!"

I laugh and take mercy on him. Mustering my courage, I meet Thresh's gaze. "Do you have any siblings, Thresh?"

He's silent. Is he giving me the silent treatment? No, as it turns out, because he says, "One older sister. Honey."

"What about you and Cedric, Ember?" Rue queries. "It's you two, Summer—" she nods at their baby sister, who's holding Mom's hand "—and...an older brother? He won the Games, didn't he?"

"Ash, and yes, he won the Sixty-Fourth," I reply.

"And Ash has a twin, Rain," Ced chips in.

"Really?" Rue's brow furrows. "I don't think I've seen her with you guys on TV before."

"She's not around very often," I say flatly.

Rue senses this is a sore subject and wisely backs off. "So you're the middle child, Ember?"

"Yup." Sometimes it feels more like I'm the eldest, though, what with Rain out of the picture and Ash doing God knows what. It's as if Mom and Dad messed up with the first two kids so they're trying again with the second batch.

I feel like a terrible person for that thought.

Meanwhile, Cedric has turned around to beseech Dad, "Can I go say hi to Beetee? I haven't seen him in forever." Beetee, a District 3 Victor, is Cedric's idol. Cedric devours all the information he can get on Beetee's latest innovations, and ever since he met and befriended the man a few years ago, he's been nigh intolerable whenever Beetee Latier's name comes up. The Victor, for his part, seems amused and flattered that he has such an avid fan.

Dad eyes the throng of other tributes in between them and the District 3 cluster. He's probably imagining someone accidentally stepping on Cedric. "I'll go with him," I offer.

This makes Dad relent. "Alright, but only for five minutes. Then I want you back here."

"Ten," Ced argues.

"Four."

"Dad, that's not how it works!"

"Do you want to go down to three?"

Ced huffs and gives me no warning before he takes off at a run, undoubtedly to maximize his nerd-out time with Beetee. I roll my eyes and smile at Rue. "And there's Ced in a nutshell. I'll see you tomorrow at Training?"

"Definitely," Rue agrees fervently.

"How about you, Thresh?"

He shrugs. Good enough. I wave goodbye to Chaff and jog after Cedric. I weave past cowboys and paper trees and God-knows-what-else, and I'm almost to the District 3 chariot when someone grabs me around the waist and pulls me into a well-muscled body. "My, my, Ember Abernathy, it's been much too long," Finnick Odair purrs into my ear.

I groan and stamp on his foot to make him let go. "Not long enough, in my opinion." Ever since I turned fourteen and developed boobs, the District 4 Victor has become an incorrigible flirt. I know he doesn't really mean it, least of which because I'm a bit too young for his tastes, but it's still annoying as hell.

"Ouch. That hurts. Right here. Feel it?" Finnick seizes my hand and presses it to his chest. "That's my heart breaking."

"I'll send flowers." I wriggle away, turn to Finnick's tributes (the boy is just as small as Ced and Rue and now _my_ heart is breaking), and say, "I'm so sorry this is what you're stuck with. You have my deepest sympathies."

"I like orchids!" Finnick calls after me as I take the last few steps to stand beside Cedric, who is, as expected, in geek heaven.

"—and that's all you need in order to spot it," Beetee finishes, then smiles at me. "Hello, Ember. How are you?"

"I've been better, I've been worse. I hope Ced hasn't been bothering you overly much."

The bespectacled Victor chuckles. "Ced? Bother me? Never." He ruffles my brother's hair. Seeing the camaraderie between the two of them makes me really wish they could see each other more often, but alas, travel between the Districts is heavily restricted. That our little clan is granted such free license to be shuttled between Twelve and the Capitol so frequently is an anomaly.

Then again, our constant travels are akin to Finnick's. The Capitol wants us in the Capitol, so we go. If we had a choice, we would stay in Twelve forever.

Cedric launches into another tangent, about force fields of all things. Knowing how my parents won their games, I should listen, but my brain is more suited for processing books, not physics, so I let my attention wander. My skin prickles, and I slowly shift my gaze to the side to see what's making my skin crawl.

Blue meets blue. My breath catches. The ice chips in the boy's eyes are burning, but with what, I don't know. It takes me a moment to collect myself and comprehend whom I'm looking at: the male tribute from District 2. I quickly run through everything I remember about him. Cato, a volunteer, obviously a Career, and based just on what I saw of him at his Reaping, absolutely vicious.

I am now certain that what his eyes are burning with is a thirst for my blood. I am, after all, a prime target, being the daughter of not one but two Victors. He's probably imagining all the glory he'll get if he kills me.

Well, I'll have to show him that he won't find me easy prey. I take my time sweeping my gaze up and down his body, not caring if he catches me—honestly, I _want_ him to catch me. Despite my choice of hair accessory yesterday, I am no shrinking violet. And when I'm done surveying him, I just give him one last hard stare before turning my back on him. It'll take a lot more than a few glares to frighten me.


	3. Chapter 3

Three:

Training starts without a hitch. All the potential threats—namely the careers—lumber off towards the weapons stations, which suits me fine. I sweep my gaze across the training center, wondering where we should begin. I am determined to ignore the gaggle of Gamemakers supervising us from their balcony. "Ced, any suggestions for starters?"

He scratches his nose as he thinks, undoubtedly searching his mental library for gaps. "Shelter? We're not very great at that."

"Shelter it is."

We learn how to construct, protect, and reinforce makeshift shelters in a variety of terrains. Igloos. Tree-houses. Lean-tos. Caves. The station monitor is keen to stress that no matter where we are, we always ensure there is sufficient oxygen flow. The last thing we want is to get asphyxiated in our sleep. I can see Ced filing everything away in his head as we move on to snare-setting. Katniss and Gale have taught us the basics at home, but since we don't depend on wild meat for survival, we're not experts like them. I soon realize that snares can be more useful than for just catching food, though; they can catch other tributes as well. I'm working on creating a trap large enough to bag a Career when Cedric nudges my shoulder.

"Rue is watching us."

I look back and see that the young girl is indeed loitering nearby. I catch her eye and smile. This seems to give her the confidence to come over. "Hey, Rue. Do you want to join us?"

"Can I?" she asks hopefully. My heart breaks a little more.

"Yeah. We're almost finished here, but we can work some more if you want to learn how to make snares. Or do you want to move on to a different station? We already picked a station each, so it's your turn to choose."

"I'd like to try."

I turn to Cedric. "Ced, show Rue the snare you were just working on. You're a lot better at it than I am."

He splutters wordlessly but acquiesces. I watch thoughtfully as he stammers through the instructions, redder than the strawberries Madge and I gorge on in the summer. Interesting. My baby brother is growing up. I grin to myself and continue the progress on my own trap.

When we're done, Rue asks us if we're any good at climbing trees. I've spent countless afternoons in the woods, perched in branches with Madge and Katniss, throwing pinecones at an unsuspecting Gale. It's indoorsy Cedric who could use serious improvement.

Rue makes climbing look as easy as breathing. She flits up the fake trunk so quickly, I'm afraid to blink lest I miss her completely. "How are you so good at that?" I call up to her.

"I work in the orchards at home. I'm always at the tops of the trees, since I'm small."

She works already? Kids in Twelve don't head to work until they're eighteen. "Alright, well, I guess I'll give it a shot." I clamber up the fake tree next to hers, less gracefully and speedily, but I think it's a decent effort. "Okay, Ced, your turn!"

"I think I'll pass."

I shoot him a look. "Ced…" _Climbing a tree could save your life, moron,_ I try to tell him with my eyes.

He must understand at least part of my message, because he sighs and moves to grip the lowest branch. Cedric doesn't so much climb as shuffle up the tree, hugging the trunk too tightly and glancing back down too often. If we were being chased by Careers, he'd have gotten an axe in his back by now. But I say nothing; I don't want to discourage him.

Ced reaches out for the next branch, but he overbalances, loses his grip, and falls. Though the padded mat below cushions his fall, it doesn't stop me from leaping down and rushing to make sure he's all right. "Ced? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." He looks embarrassed, and his face turns a deeper shade of red when he realizes there's laughter. And he's the cause of it. I search for the source and quickly land on the Careers, who are snickering at my brother's fall.

I'm reminded of all the times I rescued Cedric from bullies at school. Jerks who tore books from his hands and ripped out the pages. Shoved him into the fence and into puddles. Taunted him for being small, weak, slow.

I see red.

Before I can stop to think about what I'm doing, I march over. They see me coming, and their snickers have faded by the time I plant myself in front of them and cross my arms.

"Is there a problem?" the boy from One queries with false concern.

I jab his chest, and he almost jumps in surprise. "Yes. You. I'll thank you very much if you and your friends would mind your own business and stop mocking someone who's a hundred times better than you all combined."

"Please," the girl from Two, Clove, scoffs. "That runt won't last a day in the arena."

"He has more intelligence in his little finger than you do in your entire body."

"Then I'll make sure to cut off that body part before I start on the rest of him."

"Not if I get to you first," I say lowly.

Clove scowls. "Is that a threat, Twelve?"

I smile. "Yes."

A hand lands on my shoulder. "Now, now, ladies," someone drawls, and I have to crane my neck to look up at an uncomfortably close Cato. I don't like it. "Let's play nice."

I shrug off his hand. I've said my piece, and I'll take an out when I see it. "I'm glad we're on the same page." I turn and leave, fully expecting Cato to shout a last-minute barb or taunt at my back.

He doesn't.

"Let's keep practicing," I tell Cedric and Rue when I get back to the tree-climbing station. They stare at me in awe before scrambling to do as I say.

By lunchtime, Cedric has managed to climb a decent-sized tree in under five minutes. I consider it a success, and we break. The Careers have their own little club, so I make sure we sit at the table farthest from them, and I take the seat that will allow me to turn my back on them. I have no desire to watch them massacre their food.

Cedric loads his plate with carbs and meat. He is so Dad's son. I shovel a heap of glazed carrots on top of his fare, and he pouts. "Ember, you're not Mom," he whines.

"Yeah, and you should consider yourself lucky I'm not. She'd make you eat twice that amount of veggies. Look, Rue has a nicely balanced plate."

Rue is staring at something—or someone—behind me. I spin around in my seat. It's a small boy with a head full of curls and a face smattered with freckles. I think I recognize him. "Hi. You're one of Finnick's, aren't you?"

He nods. "I'm Ardi." The boy fidgets. "Can I sit with you?"

"Of course. We have plenty of room."

Ardi brightens, and he sits between me and Rue. Not long after that, the gangly pair from Three approaches. I'm starting to think we should add another table.

"So...is there a reason this table is so popular today?" I ask as we dig in.

The girl from Three, Marilou, loudly whispers, "You stood up to the Careers!"

I furrow my brow. "I just told them to stop laughing at Ced."

"That's standing up to them," the boy, Thierry, tells me.

I snort. "Is that so? In that case, they were long overdue for a good telling-off. They've clearly never been disciplined a day in their lives." Actually, that's probably a lie. From what I've heard, the Career training academies are military-like. They ought to have known nothing but discipline growing up. I change the subject. "So your mentor is Beetee." I elbow my brother. "Ced here must be dying from envy. What do you think of him?"

"He's the smartest man I've ever met," Thierry gushes. "And I know a lot of smart guys. Beetee is a genius! I mean, the way he won his Games? That was just _sick._"

If Cedric's skin could turn green, it totally would.

"I know Three's specialty is technology, and everybody has a further specialization within that category. What are yours?" I query.

"Military technology," Thierry replies.

"Computer programming," Marilou adds.

Thierry nods at her. "Marilou is great. She won a prize last year for creating the best program in our school. She beat all the older students." Marilou blushes and stammers about how it wasn't really that big a deal.

"How old are you?" I wonder. Marilou is taller than me by several inches, and I'm definitely not short, but her face is just as babyish as Ced's or Rue's or Ardi's.

"Thirteen."

"So you were twelve when you won that contest?" She nods. I turn to Ced. "Wow, Ced, when are you going to make an award-winning program? You gotta catch up."

"Shut up." He throws a carrot at me. I bat it away easily, laughing.

Rue decides to take the initiative next. "What about you, Ardi? What do you do in Four?"

The freckled child shrugs. "Same as everybody else. I work on my family's fishing boat."

"Everyone in Four has a boat?" I ask. Boats are expensive in Twelve.

"Well, yeah. How else do you make a living? Some boats, if they're well-made, can be passed down from generation to generation." Ardi's chest puffs in pride. "My grandfather made our boat, and it's still as perfect as the day he finished building it. Her name is _Queen Coral._" He glances at me. "So, uh, you know Finnick, Ember?"

I nod, tearing a warm roll of bread in half.

"How?"

"Ced, our baby sister, and I come to the Capitol every year with our parents, since they always mentor in the Games. Finnick also comes here very often. It was inevitable that we met." Not really. My parents and him run in different circles, and the city is a big place. But I know that at some point Finnick intentionally sought Mom and Dad out. I'm not sure why, and I've never been able to get a straight answer out of him.

"Oh. I see. Are you dating him?"

I choke on my bread. "What?" I manage to force out after having a coughing fit.

Ardi looks innocent. "I was just wondering, because Una—my District partner—likes him and if you're dating him, then she'll probably try to go after you."

Cedric and I both break out into peals of laughter. "Please tell Una that she has nothing to worry about," I finally gasp.

"Yeah. Finnick isn't interested in snots like her," Cedric chimes in.

I shove his shoulder. "He wishes I would give him the time of day."

"You think he's hot."

"Yes, and I also think he's dumb as a rock." That's not true. I know Finnick's smart. He had to be to win his Games. It's still possible for a person to be clever and stupid at the same time, though. But, yes, he is hot. I'd have to be blind to deny it. Doesn't mean I would date him for that alone. Besides, I already get more than enough attention for being an Abernathy. No need to add to that by becoming Finnick's latest conquest in his string of paramours.

Lunch ends, and when Ced and I return to the training room, we have a much bigger party than what we started with. I'm starting to wonder if I'm being too friendly. My chances of getting Ced home are much lower if we end up with a posse of kids tagging along. But I've already grown uncomfortably attached to these kids, and the idea of snubbing them now, after we had such an enjoyable meal together, rankles me.

Maybe I can get something out of this. "What are you guys good at? Besides tree-climbing," I add pointedly at Rue, who beams.

"Fishing," Ardi volunteers. Alright. I can work with that. Knowing how to fish can be useful in a number of environments. I'm familiar with the basics, but it can't hurt to learn more from an expert like Ardi.

"Do you mind helping the rest of us out with that?"

He agrees eagerly. As we walk to the station, I wonder if he's doing this out of genuine kindness, or because he has his own plan on how to make the most out of our temporary friendship, or, most likely, to buy our company so he can stave off loneliness in these last few days.

Cedric seems to be handling everything well so far, all things considered. I think that may be because our situation hasn't quite sunk in all the way yet. He knows our parents and Summer are waiting for us when we finish training, and I've been by his side all day. If I were in his place and my fellow tribute was, I don't know, Mom, or Dad, or pre-addiction Ash, then the Games wouldn't seem all that real to me, either. Yet.

Later, it turns out that after a few initial _blazing _mishaps, Thierry is pretty damn good at starting fires, and he graciously offers to give us a few tips. Ced picks it up quickly, and he and Thierry get into a science-y talk about fire and oxygen and friction and other things that I end up tuning out while working on my own campfire.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. My immediate suspicion is the Careers, but they're busy showing off like the peacocks they are and not paying us the least attention. Frowning, I turn my gaze upward. Most of the Gamemakers are observing the Careers, with self-satisfied looks on their faces, as if they're responsible for making them into killing machines. But one of them is staring straight at me.

"Rain," I hiss under my breath.

Rue hears me. "What did you say, Ember? It's raining?"

"No, no," I say quickly. "It's nothing."

But she's already noticed. "Who is that watching you?"

"A good-for-nothing Gamemaker," I mutter.

"Do you know her?"

I want to snap at Rue to back off, but I can't bring myself to yell at the sweet girl. "Sadly, I do."

"How?"

I rub my eyes wearily. "She's my sister." If the other tributes knew that Ced and I were related to a Gamemaker, they'd either be kissing up to us or targeting us, even more than they already are. But I don't see Rue doing either, and I doubt she'll spill to anybody else.

"Your sister is a Gamemaker?" Rue asks in disbelief. "How?"

"She's very smart and creative," I say coolly. "The Capitol noticed her when she was younger, and they enrolled her in a prestigious school here when she was twelve. She's been living here ever since." I vividly remember that fateful day ten years ago, when I was screaming and begging Rain not to go, but she just turned her back on me and left without looking back. Back then, Mom and Dad weren't quite sure what the Capitol wanted her for. It wasn't until she came back to visit one summer when she was about my age now that we found out they were training her to be a Gamemaker.

I've never been able to forgive her. Our parents were in the Hunger Games. Our brother, her _twin,_ was in the Hunger Games. The Districts suffer from the Games every year. And she's chosen to be a part of them? She doesn't deserve to be called an Abernathy. I honest to God cannot wait for her to marry her stupid Capitolite boyfriend so that she can have his surname instead. Then she won't be Lorraine Abernathy any longer, and people won't ask me so often why the fuck my own sister is a Gamemaker.

Speak of the devil. Said Capitolite boyfriend wanders over to where Rain is leaning on the balcony and drapes his arm around her. He asks her something, she responds, and then he's looking at me two with unnervingly blue eyes, bluer than mine or my mother's. I focus on his beard instead. It's a weird beard. What the hell is it supposed to resemble? If this is the kind of man Rain is interested in...well.

A very nasty part of me wonders if Rain began sleeping with Seneca Crane before or after she decided to be a Gamemaker.

Cedric finally notices that something is off. "What is it, Em?"

"Our sister is spectating," I reply flatly.

It takes him a moment to realize who exactly I'm talking about. After all, Rain abandoned us when he was two, and he's only ever seen her for a few days each year, up until he was eight. Cedric twists to look at Rain, who espies him and timidly raises a hand.

I put _my_ hand on his shoulder and turn him right back around. "Focus. Back to work." I refuse to look anywhere near the balcony again for the rest of the day.

We eat dinner that night with Mom, Dad, Cinna, Portia, and Effie. I'm not hungry, but I force myself to eat, knowing that the food will be thrown out if we don't finish it.

"Anything happen at training today?" Mom asks.

"I learned how to make a bonfire," I respond. It's the safest thing to say.

Unfortunately, Cedric blabs. About everything. "I learned so much today! We worked on shelters and snares, and then Rue, the girl from Eleven, taught me how to climb a tree, but I sucked at first and I fell, and the Careers were laughing so Ember told them off and got them to shut up, and at lunch we sat with her and Thierry and Ardi and Marilou, and then afterwards Ardi taught us how to fish, and Thierry worked on fires with us, and—oh! We saw Rain today." He sits back, satisfied.

Mom and Dad stare at him, then at me, And they say, at the same time:

"You told off the Careers?"

"You're working with that many tributes?"

I shoot a death glare at Ced. "A, I just told them to stop laughing at Ced. And B, we only sat with a few other kids at lunch and got them to teach us some skills."

"That sounds very mercenary," Dad drawls. "I approve. But it's not like you at all, Em. C'mon, what really happened?"

"I think we're all friends now," Cedric says helpfully.

The silence is damning. "Friends," Dad repeats. "Great. Just what we need. Attachment to other tributes right before you go into the Games."

"We're not friends," I sneer.

"Oh, really?" Dad doesn't believe me. "So, ah, you have no desire at all to be allies with any of these kids? If you meet, who was it, Rue? If you meet Rue in the Games, you won't have a problem killing her? If you three are the last ones standing, you'll do what it takes for one of you to win?"

"I—Dad! Of course I don't want to kill her! But that doesn't mean we're friends or allies. It means that I'm _human,_ for not wanting to mur—"

"Enough." Dad cuts me off sharply, and I realize I almost said too much. May have said too much already. The place is bugged, after all. "You know, Em, I really shouldn't be as surprised as I am now about what you've done today. You always have had a bleeding heart. I just didn't realize it was enough to make you forget about your brother or yourself."

"I haven't forgotten!"

"It sure seems like it!" Dad barks back. "Making nice with the other tributes? You really think they're cozying up to you because they _like_ you? They're using you, and you're deluding yourself if you think otherwise."

My chair screeches as I push back. "I'm full."

"We're not done here, Ember."

"Oh, yes, we are," I snarl before barging out of the apartment. I can either go up or down. Down puts me at too high a risk of encountering other people, so I take the stairs to the roof. There's usually a rooftop garden and pool and courtyard and such at the Tribute Centers. I'm not sure why, since tributes and mentors rarely use them. Then again, the Capitol is all about wasteful spending, so it's not like it's out of character for them.

I lean over the guardrail at the edge and glower at the city. Stupid Capitol. Stupid Capitolites. Stupid Games. Stupid Panem. I hate it all. Twisting everything good so that I can't even be nice to kids without questioning their and my own motives.

Stupid Dad.

"Ember?"

I exhale. "Hey, Cinna."

He moves to stand beside me, resting his hands on the same rail. "I'm sorry your father upset you."

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

He, too, gazes out at the city. "You know, I see nothing wrong with showing kindness, even—no, especially to other tributes."

"Really? Dad seems to think I'm nuts," I say bitterly. "It's not like I was _trying_ to be friendly! It just...happened. They seemed lonely, and I didn't think there was anything wrong with sitting at the same table. Everything just happened from there."

Cinna smiles. "And that is what is so special about you, Ember Abernathy."

"Hm?"

"You demonstrate compassion for others, even at the hardest of times. Your love for your brother, your family, shines through no matter the circumstances. You are courageous in big and small circumstances. You show some of the best qualities available to humankind."

I gape at him. "Are you sure we're still talking about me?" Compassionate? Courageous? I'm an overly bitter teenager who covers up my despondence with sarcasm and teasing.

Cinna chuckles and pats my arm. "Ember, do you know why I'm the stylist for Twelve?"

"Because you're the newbie?"

"Because of you." He looks me in the eye. "Not just because I knew you before the Games. Not just because we're friends. Not just because I like you. You, my dear, are inspirational, and not only in an artistic sense."

"I think we're talking about two entirely different people, Cinna. The most I've done is volunteer so I can bring Cedric home."

"And you don't think that's inspirational? Do you see any other District citizens volunteering so they can protect their loved ones? Ember, you are the only tribute in the entire history of the Hunger Games who is going into the arena with one hundred percent certainty that she is not coming back out. No, don't talk about how other tributes have known their odds of surviving are close to zero. Those other tributes may be aware of the odds, but they hope despite them that they can make it. They cling to that infinitesimally small possibility of living."

"Are you saying I'm hopeless?"

"Not at all, far from it. You are hopeful. Not for yourself, but for your brother. You're pinning all your hopes on his survival. You could have not volunteered and guaranteed your safety. Instead, you are sacrificing your life so that you can increase his chances of living in your stead. _That_ is noble. _That_ is courageous. _That_ is hopeful. _That_ is a true act of love. And _that_ is inspirational."

"He's my brother! What else am I supposed to do?"

"Do you see any other siblings doing the same as you? In this Games? Ever?"

"Be that as it may," I digress, "what does this have to do with what Dad was yelling about?"

"Your compassion does not just stop at your brother or the rest of your family. It extends beyond, to innocent children you've only just met. You know full well that your odds, and Cedric's odds, would be better if you didn't take up the burden for caring about other tributes. Despite that knowledge, you did so anyway, because that is who you are. And you should never be sorry for who you are."

My eyes are watering. Goddammit. "Would you tell that to my dad?"

"I don't think I need to," Cinna says blithely. "When I left, your mother was telling him off."

Thank God for Mom. "I guess I had better go back and see what the damage is."

Cinna smiles again. "It won't be as bad as you think," he assures me as we go back down.

He's right. It isn't. Dad looks like a kicked dog, and Mom doesn't seem upset at me when we come back in. "Thank you for speaking with her," she says warmly to Cinna. "Portia and Effie have already headed down, but they're waiting for you if you'd like to get a ride with them."

"That would be wonderful. Thank you for having us, Maysilee." Cinna nods at Dad. "Haymitch." Then me. "Ember. I'll see you soon." He leaves.

Mom looks between Dad and me. "I'll go see what Cedric is up to." And she leaves us alone.

Dad stares morosely into his empty wineglass. Mom doesn't let him have more than two glasses each night. Apparently he had a bit of a drinking problem back before Ash and Rain were born. "It seems," he begins slowly, "I may have come on too strongly regarding my initial feelings about you socializing with the other tributes. I apologize."

Dad rarely apologizes for anything. Mom must've really reamed into him.

"It's your nature to make friends with kids. I was wrong to try to stop that. And I was very wrong to say that you're neglecting Ced for them." At last, he looks at me. "You wouldn't be the Ember we know and love if you didn't have a little heart, even now."

He opens his arms, and that's all I need to go forward and hug him.

Dad says, muffled in my hair, "But we do need to talk about this Career thing that happened."

I groan. "They were being assholes. Like I said, I shut them up. That's it."

"That's not inconsequential," Dad warns. "Careers are an arrogant, prideful lot. They don't like anybody treating them like they're anything less than superior. Stay off their radar from now on, okay? I don't want you on any of their hit lists. We have a nasty bunch this year."

"What are your thoughts?"

"Two's tributes are the ones to worry about," he says. "but don't dismiss One, either. Treat the girl like Cashmere. She might seem ditzy, but she could be a cold-blooded killer underneath that pretty face. The boy doesn't look like the sharpest tool in the shed, but I'm willing to bet that he'll have no compunctions whatsoever about killing in the arena. And he'd probably be damn good at it."

"What about Two?"

"The girl's smaller and younger than usual, but don't let her size deceive you. She's got that...look. The one that you usually only see in Victors _after_ they come out of the Games. That she's a killer, like it or not. And the boy…" Air gushes out of Dad's mouth. "Please, for the love of God, Em, stay out of his way. He looks like a beast. Probably is a beast. I don't want him crushing your skull with his bare hands as soon as you all step off the platforms."

I'm still unnerved by the look he gave me earlier today, when he broke up a potential fight between Clove and me. "Don't worry, Dad. I'll stay faaaaar away from him."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you to everyone who's reading! I've been asked by several readers here and on AO3 about updating faster, and the thing is Real Life is super busy, so that combined with the low interest in this story means infrequent updates. I only have so much time, and I haven't been getting a lot of feedback on this story, so I'm allocating that time elsewhere. *shrugs* I'm mercenary. I put in what I get back.<strong>

**That being said, to those who do review and follow, thankyouthankyouthankyou! Seeing that little email alert in my inbox makes my day! I will generally reply to reviewers who are signed in, and I will also do my best to respond to anonymous reviewers (at least those who comment with something more substantial to work with than "update faster") by posting replies at AN's at the end of succeeding chapters. It can never hurt to ask questions. ;)**


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